by Raen Smith
“I’m glad you snuck that in there,” I reply with a laugh as we walk onto the beach. The warm sand sinks beneath my feet and squishes between my toes.
“This is so much better than thirty degree weather in Wisconsin,” she says, dancing her feet into the sand. She kicks a large sweep up in front of her and points to a sign with red lettering that reads ‘Swim at your Own Risk. Shark Sightings.’
“Want to go swimming?” she asks.
“No,” I shake my head as she laughs. “The weather is better than Wisconsin, but I’m happy to say that we don’t have to worry about man-eating ocean creatures.”
“Come on,” she teases. “Live a little.”
“I hope you’re kidding…” I say.
She shrugs her shoulders and smiles.
“What did you think about Officer Singh? He was our last stop, so I was hoping for something a little more enlightening. Like where the fountain of youth is located or the secret to setting the new World Record in hot dog eating or who really shot JFK. You know, the important stuff.”
She suddenly stops in the sand and releases my hand. “I think I know what it is.”
“What?” I ask, trying to edge off the nervousness I feel from her letting go of my hand. It’s now hanging lonely in the air.
“You know how he was talking about his last name? The legacy his grandfather or whoever left him.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s what it was. It was about our ancestors leaving us with something to deal with, whether we like it or not,” she says slowly.
“What is it?” I ask, not comprehending the magnitude of my question or the possibilities of the answer. Had I known what she was going to say, I would have never asked the question. I wouldn’t have asked it like this, and I wouldn’t have asked it here, on the beach with ocean waves crashing on day three of our journey.
But the universe doesn’t tell you these things. She doesn’t wrap things up in a neat little package with a big red bow. She slices you open when you’re least expecting it in a way that makes you beg for mercy.
“I never wanted to tell you,” she says. “It’s why I left Appleton without leaving you any contact information.”
“Tell me. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” I say, still not knowing. I’ll look back on this moment and wish I would have done it differently. I wish I would have taken more time to think it through and prepare for what she is about to tell me. But I don’t, and her words cut me like a knife.
“My dad killed your mom.”
The universe, my friends, is one cruel bitch.
Chapter 15
They say that when you experience emotional trauma, your body goes into non-medical shock. It releases adrenaline into the bloodstream and carries the same characteristics of real shock after a traumatic and serious injury. Clammy hands, racing heart, anxiety, rapid-breathing, nausea, and dizziness. I’m experiencing all of these.
My body is trying to comprehend the information, but it can’t.
“We should sit down,” she says, but I don’t hear her. All I hear is the crash of the waves, and all I see are Luella’s eyes – eyes as blue as the tranquil sea – just like Big Dave used to say. My heart putters inside my chest like the sound of a car that’s about to give out.
My dad killed your mom? The words don’t sound right coming from her mouth, and they definitely don’t sound right in my head.
“Your dad killed my mom?” I ask. They sure as hell don’t sound right coming out my mouth. She nods her head even though I’m hoping she won’t. She sits on the sand and wraps her arms around her legs.
I stand there for a second longer, first putting my hands on the back of my head, and then I move them to my knees. My lungs are constricting¸ refusing to let oxygen in and out freely. I close my eyes and concentrate, just like Big Dave taught me. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I repeat. Over and over.
“Your dad, Dr. Sullivan, killed Luella Rowland, my mother?” I try to control the anger in my voice, but I feel it rising in my chest, threatening to bubble over. I want to scream, kick and flip the universe off. But instead, I hang my head over my knees and say, “How? How did he kill her?”
And then all I can hear is Piper’s whispers, “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’m sorry…” She’s repeating it somewhere below me, but I can’t find the courage to say anything else.
I’m still bent over, my hands shaking as I attempt to control the questions that swirl in my head, when a sweep of sand kicks in front of me. The small shoes of a child appear in front of me and then stop. I follow the shoes up to the little stick legs with knobby knees and then to khaki shorts and then to a miniature plaid shirt that’s buttoned up to his neck. A string is hovering in the air, his hand clenched tight to carry a pink balloon. His wide eyes are an espresso brown, framed with thick lashes that flutter slowly. He’s maybe four or five.
“Hey, mister, are you okay?” he asks. His voice has the slightest lisp that’s going to cause a world of hurt later if he doesn’t outgrow it. “You don’t look too good. You look like my papa when his heart gave out.”
That’s what it feels like. My heart is giving out. But I don’t want to worry this kid. I take a deep breath and clear my throat.
“Hey, buddy. I’m fine. It’s nice that you asked though,” I reply.
“How about her?” He points to Piper who’s looking up at him with teary eyes. “My mom told me it’s important to be a concerned zitizen.” He straightens his back up.
“A citizen, yeah. She’s right, it’s important to be a concerned citizen,” I say as a woman in a dress flutters up next to him and grabs his balloon-less hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says to me before she turns to the little boy with a voice that sounds like it’s supposed to be a scold, but it falls short. “Cole, remember I told you not to talk to strangers.”
He nods his head obediently and turns his body to follow her lead. He whispers to Piper, “Do you want my balloon? Will that make you feel better? I don’t really like pink anyway. It’s a girl color.”
But all Piper can do is shake her head no and let a tear fall down her cheek.
“Thanks, buddy, for being a concerned citizen,” I whisper before his mom whisks him away. The pink balloon bobs in the air, following the tugs of the boy like a shadow.
“I wish I was that balloon and that the little boy would unclench his fist and let me float away,” Piper whispers. “I can’t do this, Cash. I just don’t know how to deal with this. I just -”
I can hear Big Dave’s voice now and his hand on my shoulder and the gentle encouragement of his words that both drove me wild and comforted me when life was unfair. Like when our dog Gigi that we inherited from Aunt Linda got hit by a car only after having her for a week. He said it then, and I know he would say it now if he was standing next to me, What is meant to be is meant to be.
I sit down next to her in the sand, and I finally say, “At least you would be a pink balloon.”
She smiles through her tears. “I just –” She stops again, and I don’t blame her. I don’t want to have this conversation either. I wish it wasn’t happening. I wish her father didn’t kill my mother. But you know what I say about wishing.
“I know this is going to be hard. And right now, I want to be the jerk who flies off the handle and throws a fit by kicking sand and knocking that garbage can over.” I nod to the green can ten feet over. “Believe me, I want to scream and punch someone, anything. You see that guy out there?” I point to a guy wearing a hat that’s strapped under his chin and a Hawaiian shirt about three sizes too big. “I want to punch that guy for no reason other than that he’s wearing a ridiculous shirt. I’m furious right now. I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me. That my dad didn’t tell me. I feel betrayed and angry and hurt...”
She wraps her arms tighter around her knees and it makes my stomach drop. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“But we have to have this c
onversation. You have to tell me everything. I have to know what we’re dealing with here. And I promise that I’ll be civil even though I’m ready to go all Green Hulk right here on this beach.” I lean toward her and softly lift up her chin so I can see her eyes. Another tear rolls down her cheek, and I catch it with the back of my hand.
“You’re too good to me,” she sniffles. “I don’t deserve you. I should have told you right away, but I was scared, and I was young. My dad told me that night when he sent me away, and I just didn’t have the courage to tell you. I didn’t give you any way to get a hold of me because I couldn’t come to terms with it. I mean, how do you tell someone that your dad killed his mom? ‘Hey, I really love pizza and by the way, my dad killed your mom.’ How do you have family dinners at Christmas? How do you deal with telling your kids that their grandpa killed their grandma? I mean, it’s just …it’s insane.”
“All of that went through your head that night?” I ask, pressing my hand on her knee. “The family dinners at Christmas and everything? The grandpa and grandma thing?”
“Yeah.” She lets out a small laugh. “I just didn’t know how to deal with it. So I left you the note and put it in the hands of fate I guess.”
“I’m pissed but kind of flattered at the same time that you were thinking about family dinners at Christmas. It’s a weird feeling,” I reply slowly. I know what I am about to ask is going to hurt, and I know as much as I want to be left in my blissful ignorance, I need to know the answers to my questions. “How did it happen? I thought she died in a car accident.”
“She didn’t,” Piper says deliberately as she takes a deep breath in. “How much do you want to know?”
“Everything that you know.” I squeeze her knee. “Everything that your dad told you.”
“Your mom was a patient of my dad’s back in 1992. He had just joined a private practice in Chicago with a well-known oncologist that specialized in brain tumors and other malformations. She was referred by her doctor in Appleton to undergo a specialized surgery to remove the tumor. Your mom had a lower grade glioma. It was aggressive but operable. It just so happens that my dad was leading the revolutionary surgery that she needed.” She pauses, resting her hand against mine.
Piper inhales, and I give her hand another squeeze. “My dad said that it was a tough surgery. There are so many risks with surgeries. So many things that can go wrong…so many complications…”
“What happened?” I whisper.
“She died on his table, Cash. My dad couldn’t save her. The tumor was too attached. It just …” She breaks down and covers her face with her hands. “It was because of me.”
“What do you mean? It was because of you?”
“My dad was in a rush because my mom was in labor. My birthday is April 24, Cash. April 24,” she whispers again.
I’ve hated the date since I can remember.“The day Luella died.”
“The day I was born,” she whispers in between tears.
“Couldn’t someone else have done the surgery? Couldn’t someone else have fixed it?” I sputter, feeling the anger rise in my throat. I ask although I know Piper doesn’t have the answer to the question. Deep down, I know it’s a question that Big Dave has never found the answer to.
“I don’t know…” she whispers and shakes her head. “I asked the same thing and all he could say is that he never has forgiven himself for that moment. He regrets not being more cautious with the surgery. He wishes he would have spent more time with her, but he was just so preoccupied.”
“How could he not have someone with him? Why didn’t they reschedule? Why?” I ask, letting go of her hand and slamming it into the sand. I grab a fistful of sand and clench it, letting it slide through my fingers. The grit rubs against my skin as I clench over and over, thinking about Big Dave and the pain he’s endured for the last twenty-one years.
“I don’t know, Cash. I don’t want to sit here and make excuses for him. I mean, he said he was in the middle of the surgery when my mom went into labor,” she says, throwing up her hands in the air. “He says not being more thorough that day is the only regret of his entire career. I mean, he’s lost a lot of patients in the last twenty years, including the love of his life, but hands down, he said this was the single-most influential moment in his career. A career that since has consumed his life.”
Piper pauses, and I can feel her eyes penetrate me, but I don’t meet her gaze. I stare at the sand that’s squeezing out of my fingers because I’m afraid to say or do something I’m going to regret. I know she’s only the messenger, but damn, it hurts. The betrayal of Piper and Big Dave and God knows who else is crushing me.
“You have to believe me. He’s a neurosurgeon first and foremost, and that’s why he moved us to Appleton five years ago. He was convinced that he needed to right his wrong. That somehow, working with a community that has one of the highest rates of brain cancer in the U.S. would clean his slate. He had no idea that Big Dave would still be there, and he had no idea that we would cross paths. He knew that your parents had a baby at the time of surgery, but he thought that Appleton should be big enough. I was only going to be there for a year,” she says. There’s panic in her voice now, a sense of urgency. Deep down, I want to believe everything she’s saying, but the blind rage is pushing away her words.
“So you knew this for five years?” I ask, trying to control the anger laced in my voice. It’s coursing through every single inch of my body.
“I knew the night that I left Appleton. My dad went back to the office to do his surgery and then came home. After he told me everything, he helped me pack my bags. How could I argue with him? It would have been torture to be with you, and I just didn’t know how I would tell you,” she replies softly.
“And what about the so-called accident? You seem to know everything else about me and my dead mom.” I finally look at her. I hate the words that come out of my mouth, but I can’t stop them. She’s silent at first and her small shoulders slump forward.
“Maybe your dad should…” Piper’s voice is strained, on the verge of breaking into a million pieces.
“My dad should what?” I ask, barely audible. The words disappear into the crash of the waves, and I’m uncertain for a moment if I even spoke them at all. I don’t want any of this conversation to be real. I want all of this to be washed away into the ocean. I want the water to swallow all of our words and memories surrounding this moment. I close my eyes and feel my throat constrict the air that should be filtering into my lungs. My head is light and faint as my mind tries to process the information. Piper’s words float around my head in a fog.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I manage to ask. “I feel like a jerk that no one told me. Am I too weak that you couldn’t tell me? That I wouldn’t be able to handle it?”
“I didn’t know how to, Cash. I just…” Her voice is louder now, and she throws her hands up, surrendering to the impossible universe.
I close my eyes again and concentrate on the soothing sound of the waves crashing into shore. I try to concentrate on my breath, and I suddenly wish that I would have listened to Big Dave’s lectures about meditation. I could use some of those skills to try to control the anger and hurt and feelings of betrayal overwhelming me.
Most of all, I’m flat-out pissed at the universe. I’m angry that she took my mother away before I had the chance to really meet and get to know her and love her like a son should. I’m angry that Luella never got the chance to meet me and get to know me and love me like a mother should.
And I’m pissed at the universe for making me love the only girl that I shouldn’t love. Piper Sullivan truly is an impossibility in an impossible universe.
The noise of the waves and my thoughts cloud over me until I feel like I’m about to implode right on this beach. It consumes me so much that I don’t notice the movement next to me. I try to categorize my feelings into manageable sections that make sense, but I don’t even know where to begin. I finally open my eyes after what
feels like an eternity. The reality is that it’s only been a minute or two. I look over expecting to see a gorgeous tear-stained, pink-flushed face, but all I see is sand. She’s gone.
I put my hand on the sand where she used to be and search frantically along the beach, but I don’t see her. All I see are sporadic pockets of people lying on their towels or chairs, and a couple walking hand-in-hand near the water. In the distance, I see the pink balloon the boy was holding like a speck in the sky. It’s flying out near the peak of the Ferris wheel, about to set sail across the ocean. The pink balloon is free.
And all I can think about is Officer Singh’s words that he spoke less than an hour ago. “Never let this girl out of your sight. Don’t let anything come between you.”
So I decide that I’ll be damned if I ever let Piper Sullivan go. There’s no way that I will spend the next five years looking for her again. I’m not going to let her walk out of my life a second time.
This is where you cheer me on and tell me to RUN! RUN LIKE THE WIND, CASH! GO FIND HER! The soundtrack picks up to a light drumbeat, slow at first and then faster and faster as thoughts circulate in my head and the people move on the beach like synchronized swimmers.
I’m listening friends, I’m listening. It’s now or never.
I grab the bag, shoot up from the sand, and try to assess which way Piper went. The ocean: she’d be crazy to go in the ocean with the shark warning. Piper’s crazy, but not that crazy. I turn around. Roads and storefronts: it would be easy to get lost in the crowd there, but she wouldn’t head back to Wisconsin. Yet. I don’t think anyway. And then I see it. What I should have seen right away, and probably what you’ve been thinking since you saw the pink balloon float over the Ferris wheel.
The carnival.
I’m sprinting across the sand now barefoot, the thought of losing Piper pushing me forward with a strength and speed I’ve never experienced before. I feel like Jesse Owens cruising in the sand, the breeze blowing through my hair and my muscles exploding with every step. You know, minus the weight of four Olympic gold medals and everything.